The Mom Stop: It’s a kick being a soccer mom

Tuesday

It was almost four years ago that I sat on the sidelines of the soccer fields at Munny Sokol Park, cheering on my then-3-year-old son as he kicked a ball across the field.

It was what I did every spring, starting when my oldest daughter was in preschool. But something was different that late April day in 2015 - as I sat in my lawn chair on the sidelines, I wasn’t alone. Strapped to my chest, nestled in an infant carrier was our newborn baby daughter, sleeping contently despite the cheers and general chaos of a group of preschoolers trying to play soccer.

I thought about that day last week as I saw a friend of mine on the soccer field, with her own squishy little newborn strapped to her chest while we both watched our preschoolers kick soccer balls across the field. Only this time, my tiny little baby who once slept on the sidelines was the one running across the field in her tiny soccer shorts with hot-pink soccer socks and pink cleats.

It was an instant reminder of how quickly we float from one stage to the next in this phase of life.

My baby, our youngest, has grown up watching her siblings play soccer from the sidelines, first as a newborn, then as a toddling 11-month-old. No matter how much we tried to keep her on a quilt while we watched the games, she learned to walk by being determined to walk out on the field to join her brother or sister. So many times she’d toddle out there, only to be pulled back to safety. As she’s gotten older, she’s become the cheerleader as her sister plays in tournaments and in games across the state.

Last year, when I found a tiny pair of cleats at a consignment sale, my youngest daughter’s face lit up. “I’m going to play SOCCER!” she squealed.

This spring, it was time. We signed her up. I took her shopping for a new pair of little shin guards, and although her first practice wasn’t until Monday, she begged to wear her soccer gear the entire day before. And so we let her.

When it came time to practice last week, she got distracted and got caught in the net of the soccer goal, accidentally pulling it down on top of her, not just once, but twice. I made the mistake of getting her Gatorade for the first time instead of water. Rather than waiting for the coach to tell her when to take a water break, she’d run off the field every minute or two shouting “I’m THIRSTY!!”

When another child kicked his ball across the field quickly and got it in the goal before she did, she ran off the field again, only this time in tears. I asked her what was wrong.

“I lost!” she cried. I tried to explain that they were actually playing a game of soccer, because every kid had their own ball, and everyone was trying to get it in the goal. It wasn’t a race, I told her. She perked up quickly.

And as the coach tried to teach the little ones to play “red light, green light,” our sweet girl didn’t seem to understand that she was actually supposed to stop during “red light.” Instead, the coach would call “red light” and most of the kids would stop. But then there would be our girl, kicking the ball and running circles around it as she eventually made it down the field.There are few cuter things in the world as watching young kids play sports.

As I loaded my 3-year-old into our minivan at the end of practice, I could tell she was exhausted. Dusk had turned to night, and it was almost her bedtime. But when I asked her if she had fun, a grin spread across her face.

“YES!” she said.

Five minutes later, she was asleep, before we even made it home.Lydia Seabol Avant writes The Mom Stop for The Tuscaloosa News in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Reach her at lydia.seabolavant@tuscaloosanews.com.